


they do not hold me

by madanach



Series: he keeps it safe (hallway 'verse) [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dream Sex, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madanach/pseuds/madanach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not often that he thinks about Basti touching him, preferring to stick with what he knows — Basti’s cocky smirk, the set of his shoulders, the easy way he calls Lukas’ name when he’s had too much to drink — but even something as ethereal as a dream seems real when it’s Basti’s hands on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they do not hold me

**Author's Note:**

> SET IN "THEY WERE A LONG HALLWAY" 'VERSE
> 
> i feel guilty about how long chapter three is taking, so have some porn to tide you over. takes place at the beginning of chapter three (early 2015)
> 
> comments/critique welcome!!! all apologies to lukas podolski.

Basti isn’t even there, when it starts.

Lukas only finds him somewhere between the lot where he used to play football and the chapel where he had his wedding, kicking at weeds on the side of a road he recognizes from Cape Town. Basti’s excited, talking avidly, and Lukas feels vestiges of adrenaline fade in his veins as he speaks; he was running, earlier, high-speed chase or something out of an action movie that looked glamorous but made his heart beat faster than he likes. This part is easier. 

They’re in a neighborhood he can’t identify, walking for a while, and though the house they walk up to is Basti’s the one they enter is Lukas’. He knows because he sees his own staircase, his pictures on the wall, even though he hasn’t lived there since he left Cologne almost five years ago. It makes sense, in some strange way, so Lukas doesn’t question it. He lets Basti lead him up the stairs by the hand — his hand? 

His hand, just like Lukas had led him through the darkened crowds that night in Rio. The strange, brilliant fervor that filled his chest the minute he saw Basti walk off the field that day looks different in Basti’s eyes.

Lukas says something. It’s unimportant, so the words fall away the minute they leave his mouth, but it thrills Basti. Lukas can tell because Basti spins on his heel at the top step, too fast, too beautiful for Lukas to remember not to gape.  

“It’s a great idea,” Basti says, smiling unbearably bright. Lukas doesn’t remember what he’s talking about, reaches to touch his smile — it seems like he’s seen it before, not Basti’s post-win smile or his drunk smile or his Milos smile but the one that seems to push how far his lips can go, his teeth parted in some wordless delight. He looks at Lukas like that for a moment longer before leaning in.

Though they’ve never kissed before, Lukas goes with it; it seems like the logical way their conversation would progress. Something behind him sounds like fingers snapping, feels like hands pinching the soft of his arm but he ignores it in favor of Basti’s warm mouth, Basti’s arms wrapping snugly around his waist. He’s never kissed a man, either, but that, too, seems barely important. He knows just what to do with his hands, and he slips one under Basti’s shirt, cups his jaw with the other and revels in the wet slide of their lips against each other. 

“Good,” Basti says, “Lukas, really good, always,” not in his normal voice but whispered against Lukas’ mouth through a smile, always smiling, between kisses. A warm weight blossoms in Lukas’ chest; he feels encouraged to kiss harder, push his hand up until his fingers brush the stiff nub of Basti’s nipple. “Lukas,” Basti says again. 

Lukas knows that Basti wants him to push his shirt up under his arms, tug it off his head and let it drop, just like he knows that when Basti grips his hips tight and pushes him backwards there will be a bed behind his knees. He tips backward obediently, lets Basti crawl over him. His clothes must have been lost somewhere along the way; suddenly he’s naked, and Basti too, and moments later it’s hard for him to think of anything beyond the searing pleasure shooting through his body, every dry thrust of Basti’s dick against his own the best friction he’s ever gotten. 

When he moans Basti laughs and kisses him, then reaches between the small of Lukas’ back and the bed and lets his fingers drift lower. Lukas doesn’t remember the exact words of the question but he knows his answer was _yes, yes, yes_.

Basti’s hands are broad and gentle. Lukas doesn’t think he’s ever felt this safe in his life. “I want you in me,” he says, for once not embarrassed by his own longing, and Basti smiles as he pushes in.

He gasps “Basti,” gasps “Please,” gasps “God, fuck, I love you,” but when he wakes up he can’t remember if Basti said anything back.

“Shit,” Lukas says into his pillow.

Basti doesn’t answer. Of course, because he’s fast asleep, worn out from a late night of captain’s meetings before an early morning of practice before both of those things again. Lukas tilts his face to the side and watches Basti breathe under the covers, just the top of his head and furrowed brow visible. Lukas’ restless sleep doesn’t seem to have disturbed him.

Lukas presses his lips together. The inch-long indentation between the beds is a laughable separation, and though they’re under different blankets it would be too easy to push his way over to Basti’s half.

Or for Basti to push his way over to his. The image of Basti’s face, red and sweating, so close to his own still lingers behind his eyelids; he has a flash of Basti blinking awake and reaching out but shakes it away.

It takes him a full minute of stupid, starry-eyed gazing at the bridge of Basti’s nose to realize that he’s hard.

 _God damn it_ , he thinks, looking down at the V-shape his body makes under the covers. He presses his cold hands to his lower stomach in an effort to stave it off. Though it’s not the first time it’s happened, now that Basti’s this close — close enough to touch — the throbbing between his legs feels like betrayal. _He has a boyfriend_ , Lukas reminds himself. _He has a boyfriend and he’s your best friend and just because he’s into dudes doesn’t mean he wants to fuck you._

It helps, but only a little. The thought of Milos always makes him feel sick to the stomach, but it’s not enough for him to forget the sure way Basti looked at him, the way his bare skin felt against Lukas’ hands. 

Lukas groans and rolls out of bed, wincing as his feet hit the cold floor, then twists his head back to make sure Basti hasn’t woken up. He takes in the familiar, comforting sight of Basti tangled in the sheets before stumbling off to the bathroom.

“Fuck,” he says out loud once he’s gotten the door closed, looking at himself in the too-small mirror. His face is red, his T-shirt sticking to his torso from sweat, and though the mirror doesn’t go that far down he knows his boxers are tented.

“Fuck,” he repeats, grimacing at his reflection, then presses a flat palm to his erection before walking to the shower, turning it on full-blast. The last thing he wants is Basti waking up to hear him moaning his name; he doesn’t think Basti would hate him for loving too much, but he’d hate him for that. He does still have a trace amount of dignity left.

Trace amount, he thinks as he shucks off his clothes and steps under the steaming water. Trace fucking amount, the rest of it gone the minute he got home from Brazil and started having vivid dreams about shit he’d never even considered before realizing he was in love with another man. 

He wraps a hand around his dick and turns away from the water. If he closes his eyes, he can see Basti in front of him with that goddamned smile, reaching for him with certainty. He imagines Basti stepping into him and his breath catches.

It’s not often that he thinks about Basti touching him, preferring to stick with what he knows — Basti’s cocky smirk, the set of his shoulders, the easy way he calls Lukas’ name when he’s had too much to drink — but even something as ethereal as a dream seems real when it’s Basti’s hands on him. He takes an image he knows well and builds on it: Basti’s grin and hands on his shoulders, pulling him in. That could have been how the dream started, yeah. Basti coming into his house, greeting him like always, knowing what they were about to do.

Lukas grunts, bites his lip. It had seemed so real. The memory of his hand wandering under Basti’s shirt and rubbing his nipple lingers in his head; stupidly, he feels his face get hot, but he thinks about Basti baring his neck and sighing and strokes himself faster.

Basti coming up behind him, wet from the shower, wrapping a hand around Lukas’ own. He’d kiss Lukas’ neck and laugh, probably, at the noises he’d make. 

“God damn,” Lukas whispers, curling in on himself unintentionally. He doesn’t know what to do with this much want.

He rubs the pad of his thumb over the tip of his dick; if he were in bed he’d buck up, but as it is he just shivers, up through his shoulders, wishes Basti’s broad body was behind him to keep him standing.

Oh, _fuck_. Lukas’ shoulder swings back and he pushes his shoulderblades into the wall, breathing heavy — _Basti_ , and, oh fuck.

His hand’s behind himself before he knows what he’s doing.

“What the fuck,” he says breathlessly. He lines up his middle finger but doesn’t dare to go any further; Christ, what is he doing, what is he _doing_.

It’s not that he hasn’t done it before. He tried when he was younger, not often but more than a couple of times, and though the sensation was good he figured it wasn’t for him, nothing he couldn’t get with Moni, who knew him inside out, or the right amount of attention. It’s been a while, though, and he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what he wants, except for Basti, and —

Fuck it. He pushes his finger against himself until it slips through the ring of muscle, waiting. He breathes through his nose, rolls his shoulder uncomfortably — the angle’s not great, he should let go of his dick to brace himself but he doesn’t want to lose the pressure — and then pushes in a bit further.

That’s. “Shit,” he says, louder than he intends. It’s a strange sort of fullness, not unpleasant, and when he palms his cock it splits the sensation down his spine in a way he could really begin to enjoy.

He squeezes his eyes shut. Basti’s just in the next room and this might be one of the dumbest ideas Lukas has ever had, but if he just. If he can just figure out how Basti did that thing, that curve of his fingers that made Lukas’ entire body arch up, then he can get off and forget about this.

At least until he goes back to sleep. The frustration finds his wrist; he pushes his finger in harder than necessary and winces, dull nail too rough against delicate skin. He groans, wanting more but wary, then bites on his bottom lip to stop the noise. 

“Christ,” he whispers to himself, suddenly desperate to come; he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the shower wall. He focuses on his dick to ignore the tightening muscle around his finger, works himself harder than normal until his breath is shaking and precome mixes with the water on his fingers.

He curves his body to the side, letting the spray of the shower run down his back, pooling around the tense muscles of his back before he inches carefully away from the water. It’s getting cold and he’s already been in here much longer than necessary; he doesn’t want to still be this way when Basti wakes up.

In the dream Basti would have come in here by now, sleep-quiet but smiling again. He would have done whatever Lukas needed before he knew he needed it and Lukas hates that it’s this version of Basti he’s getting off to, the soft one that his brain creates when he’s at his most vulnerable. As he crooks his finger he forces himself to think of the Basti he knows best, how Basti would smile against his cheek like he does on the field when he had a finger in him but would have restless hands, tracing a line from Lukas’ lower stomach to his collar to his chin, maybe — hopefully — kissing him before pressing his nose to Lukas’ temple and reaching down for his dick.

His eyes are still shut tight, doing his best to keep that image, and then he grazes his prostate.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he breathes, lurching forward unintentionally. He catches himself on the shower wall and bites his lip, taken off guard by the unfamiliar shock of nerves.

Slowly, slowly, he holds his breath and brushes the same spot, other hand loose on the base of his dick. It’s — it lights this _need_ in him, this totally foreign desire to be filled up, taken, and Christ, if Basti did this to him he’d lose it. He’s such an idiot for not bringing lube. He’s such an idiot for not doing this in his _bed_.

He presses up again and barely recognizes the words that leave his mouth as coming from him, breaking from a curse into a moan the minute he wraps his other hand tighter. “God damn,” he says, “God damn, God damn,” feeling his legs getting shaky, needing _so badly_ to come before he loses all sense and sinks to the floor.

Outside the door, Basti calls his name.

“Fuck,” he gasps, the word split in two by his own lack of breath, and comes wishing his hands weren’t his own.

It takes him too long to come down. He breathes in unevenly, chest heaving, sure he looks a sight. It hurts when he pulls out his finger — no lube was a bad idea, he’ll regret that later — and stares blankly at the shower floor for much longer than necessary before remembering to twist the water off. He yells “Be patient,” hopes his voice doesn’t shake.

In the other room, Basti makes a disgruntled noise just loud enough for him to hear. Lukas smiles despite himself and tries to remember where he saw a towel before stepping out into the cool air.

His reflection only seems a bit accusing. He frowns at it, rubbing a hand over his flushed face, then tests his legs to make sure there’s no difference in his walk. His ass aches, no surprise. 

By the time he feels calm enough to leave the bathroom Basti’s curled up at the head of the bed, texting. 

 _Milos_ , Lukas thinks, heart sinking. Basti’s smiling in that fond, amused way he looks at his phone now, and he barely looks up when Lukas walks back in the room. “You’re up early,” Basti says, fingers flying. “What happened to sleeping in?”

“Did I say I was gonna sleep in?” Lukas asks, making a beeline for his suitcase. He tosses in his boxers and finds a clean pair, pulling them on quickly. Basti’s keyboard beeps behind him.

“You always sleep in,” Basti says after the click of his outgoing message. 

“Not always,” Lukas says, searching for training shorts. “I own an alarm clock.”

“Yeah,” Basti says, “Me.” He scoots backward when Lukas crosses towards him, a C-shape curved around the spot where Lukas settles on the edge of the bed. 

“Bathroom’s free,” Lukas says, trying for a stern expression. “You dick.”

“Mmmhm,” Basti hums, smiling lazily up at him. “You’re not allowed to criticize hot showers ever again, though.”

Lukas furrows his brow. “What are you talking about? Is that code?”

Basti laughs. Lukas raises an eyebrow; Basti reaches up and presses his thumb against Lukas’ cheek.

“Your face is red,” he says.

A pause.

“Oh,” Lukas says. 

“Oh,” Basti mimics, but his lips curve up. Not his Milos smile, but — Lukas almost recognizes it, the words on the tip of his tongue. 

Basti pushes himself up until his shoulder grazes Lukas’, eyes on him and only him, and for one brief, shining moment, the dream is real.

**Author's Note:**

> wie immer: twitter @ anahaedra, tumblr @ madanach
> 
> title from [robert montgomery](https://surfaceandsurface.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/robert-montgomery-surface-and-surface-2.jpg)
> 
> happy first relationship milestone, weirdo :*


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